Dream On
by Cerasi J
Summary: Greg dreams of a serial killer’s victims, can he stop it before the killer strikes again?
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Dream On

**Author:** Cerasi J.      

**Rating: **PG-13

**Website:**

**Feedback: **Please! I'm addicted to it!

**Archive: **FanFiction.Net, FanFiction Online, GSAS. If you want it, drop me a line and let me know.

**Category:** Greg fic/AU

**Spoilers: **_Lady Heather's Box, __Chasing the Bus_

**Summary: **Greg dreams of a serial killer's victims, can he stop it before the killer strikes again?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Greg, (to which I ask, WHY THE HELL NOT?!), I don't own CSI or all that other fun stuff.

**Author's Note: **Time for some shameless self-promotion: Did y'all know I own the official Greg Sanders fanlisting? ::surprised gasps from all around:: You can check it out at: ****

**Real Author's Note:** An extra, big, huge thanks to my beta, (Mom), and to Michmak, for letting me drop spoilers to her fic "Video Killed the Radio Star," (which is an excellent piece, I suggest everyone go read it right now!)  Oh yeah, both songs Greg quotes are from Filter, the first is called "Skinny" and the second is called "Cancer".

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          Her hair was a glossy black, her eyes a magnificent shade of violet.  Her skin was the color of polished bronze; the muscles under it trim and toned.  She was beautiful, a living fantasy.  Well, if she _were living she would have been a fantasy.  I cocked my head to the side, poor girl.  She couldn't have been more than twenty-five years old, and here she was, dead, before she even got a chance to live.  "Do the bodies still bother you, Greg?"  I heard Nick ask, his voice soft, understanding.  _

          "No," I murmured, kneeling beside the body of the girl and setting my kit down beside me.  I had passed the test and been promoted to CSI a little over three months ago, and for the most part, all the cases I had worked so far had been very easy, robberies or suicides. Tonight was my first murder. I usually worked with Catherine; Grissom had been giving her the easy cases because he said she "needed to show me the ropes". Personally, I think it was because she was still getting over Eddie's death and he was trying to go easy on her.  

          I didn't blame him, Catherine was the team mom, she loved us all and we loved her right back.  Now, without Eddie, we had started watching Lindsey more and more when Cat was on a late case.  That kid was great, always asking questions, breaking stuff, a female version of myself. (Much to Catherine's chagrin.)  I shook my head, glancing around the room as I did so. A drum kit was spread out behind the Vic, the red shells catching the light from the mirrorball and reflecting it like neon moonbeams, giving the room a very dark and ominous feel. 

Nick, however, didn't seem to notice, instead, he smiled, setting his kit on the floor, "Yeah, you get used to it after awhile."  I nodded; hearing, but not really listening.  I just kept watching the girl lying dead on the floor, her startling lavender eyes open and unseeing, her face forever frozen in a look of shock and surprise.  I noticed there was a drumstick in her left hand, I picked up my camera and snapped a picture.  

I carefully pried the drumstick from her lifeless fingers, "5As," I mumbled, catching Nick's attention, "Vic Firth, best sticks I've ever used." Nick stared at me; "You play the drums?"  I smiled at the memories my brain automatically pulled up, "Once in awhile, I was in a garage band when I was a teenager."  I put the stick in an evidence bag, sealed it up and put it in my kit.  I turned back to the body, trying not to look at the stilled purple eyes.  I could see from here that her neck rested at an odd angle, it was probably broken.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Nick had walked away to talk to Brass. I reached out and touched one of the glossy black strands that stuck to her cheek.  

          You can imagine my surprise when she turned her head and whispered, "The man with the dark face did it."


	2. Chapter Two

I awoke with an audible gasp, the sheets were tangled around my legs and I found myself teetering on the edge of my bed.  I lost my balance, and fell to the floor, hitting my head on the nightstand as I did so.  "God!" I exclaimed, rolling onto my back and staring up at the ceiling and my black lab, Gwen, who had got up on the bed and was now looking down at me.  "Why didn't you wake me?" I asked her as my alarm clock began to blare.  She tilted her head to the side, in the funny way that some dogs do and whined, as if to say, "Like I honestly care if you're late for work, Greg."

          I lay there for a moment, letting the dizziness wear itself out; the alarm was still blaring.  Gwen, the clever being she is, reached out and put her paw on the snooze button.  I smiled, "Now if I could just teach you how to make me breakfast."  She hopped down from my bed and licked my face, reminding me that I needed to shave.  "Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, pulling myself up off the floor.  

          I stood, groaning in protest as my head swam.  I took a deep breath and blew it out in an annoyed manner; this sent my shaggy hair out of my eyes.  I started to leave the bedroom to go shower when Gwen stepped in front of me and stopped.  I was still half-asleep and wasn't paying that much attention, which was exactly what she had intended.  I tripped over her and went sprawling onto the floor in front of my dresser.  "OW!" I cried, rolling over onto my back for the second time in two minutes, "What did you do that for?"

          Gwen minced over to me and put a front paw on my chest, I swear, if she could have raised an eyebrow at me, she would have.  "What?" I asked, indignantly, sometimes my dog could get this attitude just like my mom, you know? "Do it my way or else" kinda deal.  "What did I forget _now?_" I asked, letting my head flop back onto the floor.  This dog was nuts, she reminded me to do my chores, can you believe that? She usually tripped me in the mornings if I forgot to do something the night before.  

          And if it was something really major, like forgetting to feed her when I was dead tired, I usually wound up with ninety-dollar Sketchers torn to shreds waiting for me on the kitchen floor.  Needless to say, I always leave two bowls of food out for her and ALWAYS remember to fill them.  Thankfully, though, this time I did not forget to feed Gwen.  I sat up and she started pawing the cuff of the black sweat pants I wore to bed.  "What?" I asked again, as if I were expecting her to reply to me, "Um, _what?_"

          This time, she got a hold of the hem of the Metallica-in-concert 1992 t-shirt that I wore to bed with the sweats, she began to tug.  "Hey! Hey, don't do that! I don't tear up _your_ stuff, do I?" My dad thinks I'm nuts because I talk to my dog like I would talk to, oh, say, a girlfriend.  But believe me, Gwen always reminds me to do stuff.  Like pay my bills.  

(This means she picks up the mail from where it gathers on the floor in front of the door and puts it in her dog dish, when I go to feed her, I pick it up and say, "Oh, what's this?" Thus reminding myself that I need to pay my phone bill.  I can't name one girlfriend who's ever done that for me!)  "Laundry!" I mumbled, slapping my forehead, then wincing and rubbing it instead, "Thanks, girl."  I patted her on the head, mussing her ears.

          I stood up to get my day started, but Gwen reminded me of yet another chore.  She had grabbed the blanket from my bed and dragged it after me.  I turned around, "Now what? I'm late for work!" That's when I realized she wanted me to make the bed.  "Damn dog," I mumbled as I pulled the sheets up to the head of the bed, "Stupid parents, insisting I need an animal… stupid Sara for going pet shopping with me…"

          I wonder if Gwen had heard me, because when I was once again on my way to the bathroom, she stopped in front of me and barked with enjoyment as she heard my resounding, "DAMMIT!"


	3. Chapter Three

I stumbled into work at a few minutes after ten.  I would have just enough time to grab a Pepsi and Reece's Fast Break before nightly assignments were handed out.  Having only eighty-five cents in my pocket forced me to exchange a Pepsi and Reece's Fast Break for a root beer and a bag of Cheetos.  I wandered off to the break room, munching on my snack as I went.  I said "Hi" to a few of the people I knew from the day shift that passed me; most of them, however, knew me as one of the evil members of the night shift and ignored me without comment.   

          "Greggy!" An excited voice greeted me as I stepped into the break room, barely having enough time to register the voice before nine-year-old Lindsey Willows threw herself at me.  I caught her in the crook of my arm in a makeshift hug, "Hey Linds," I replied, smiling down at her.  "Oh, Lindsey," Catherine sighed from her spot at the table, "Goodness, can't you wait until Greg is in the room?"

          That's when I noticed Lindsey seemed to be on some sort of speed drug, or maybe it was a caffeine overload.  Whatever it was, her bouncing had caused Nick and Warrick to chuckle and smile fondly at the little girl.  I set my Cheetos on the table; pulling Sara's hair when she snitched one, "Get your own!" I scolded playfully before returning my attention to Lindsey, "What's up, kiddo?"

          Catherine was rolling her eyes and smiling, the smile touched her eyes and lit them with the glow that only parents' possess.  Nick, who had been sitting on the table, reading the sports page of the _Las Vegas Sun, prodded, "Tell him, Linds." I raised my eyebrows, waiting for the bouncing ball of blonde to settle down enough to tell me her big surprise.  _

          "MOMMY BOUGHT ME A PUPPY!" She squealed excitedly as she threw her arms around my legs in a hug, "Just like yours, Greg! Only my puppy's a boy and he's really small, but maybe your puppy could come over and teach my puppy how to be a big dog! You know, like Mommy taught you how to be a CSI?"  This roused a laugh from everyone in the room, including Grissom, who had been standing in the doorway, listening to the whole exchange. 

          I laughed, "Well, my puppy's not so little anymore."  Lindsey pouted, "Oh.  Well, can she still come over? Maybe we could have a puppy party!" Again, everyone in the room laughed at the little girl's excited babble.  _A puppy party? I prayed to God for my parent's sake that I had never said anything so silly as a child.  I smiled and mussed her hair fondly, "I don't know, Lindsey, we'll have to see what your Mom says."_

          Lindsey turned her big, blue eyes toward her mother, "Plllleeeeasssseee, Mommy?"  Catherine smiled, "I don't know, honey, we'll see."—She looked at the delicate watch resting on her skinny wrist—"But right now, I think it's past your bedtime…" Lindsey groaned.  All of my team members gave a small smirk, remembering our own childhoods and how much we hated that phrase.  "C'mon, Linds," Nick said, sliding down from the table and prying her vice-like grip off my legs, "I brought my Playstation with Bandicoot, maybe your Mom would let you play a round with me before bed?"  He looked up at Catherine, who nodded.  Nick led her off, Lindsey's voice echoing off the halls, she was trying to think up names for her new puppy.

          "A puppy, Catherine?" Sara asked with a smile as she attempted to steal another Cheeto from me.  She yelped when I slapped her hand and retaliated in the form of a sucker punch.  "OW!" I cried, rubbing my arm.  "Children," Grissom warned, not bothering to pull his eyes from the report he was reading.  "She sucker punched me, man!" I whined; sneering at Sara.  Warrick laughed, "Are you gonna let her push you around like that, Greg?"

          "Nope," I replied, "She'll get hers later." I grinned suggestively at her, causing her big, brown eyes to roll up in the back of her head.  Catherine answered Sara's question as if the whole exchange had not taken place, "Yeah, a puppy.  I took Lindsey to the mall for new clothes, we walked past the pet shop and he was in the window…" She smiled wistfully, "He was a heartbreaker, I'll tell you.  Besides, I figured it would take her mind off-…" Catherine stopped, her soft eyes sad, her voice betraying everything.  Everyone in the room sobered, she didn't have to finish the sentence, we knew what she was going to say.  _I figured it would take her mind off Eddie.  _Grissom looked up and smiled at her, "Well, I guess, we'll just wait for Nick before I hand out assignments."    
          "No need," Nick flashed everyone in the room a charming Texas smile; "I'm back, she fell asleep half-way through the level."  I sat down at the table, away from Sara; Catherine took a seat next to me as Grissom pulled out the assignment sheet.  "Ookkkaaayy," he drew out the two syllable word as he collected his thoughts, "Well, um, let's see… Catherine, you're with Sara, robbery in Henderson.  Warrick, you're with me, we've got a murder-suicide in East Las Vegas."

          This surprised me; I usually went with Catherine on cases… did this mean I had a new case? All right!  I was movin' up the ladder.  "Greg," I looked up at Grissom, "You're with Nick, murder at Club 11 on the Strip."  My eyes lit up, "Wow, my first murder, thanks, Griss."  I beamed at Sara, "Have fun at your robbery, sucker!"  She stuck her tongue out at me, "Bite me, Sanders," she replied.  "Sanders," Grissom scolded, "Sidle. Chill."  I rolled my eyes, but complied.  Warrick, Nick and Catherine all had the grace to hide their smiles behind their hands.

          Grissom looked up at everyone, "Well? What are we waiting for, let's go!"  That was Grissom's polite form of, 'I just gave you a job, GO DO IT!!!'  I stood up, and started for the locker room to get my jacket and ID.  "Catch you in the parking lot, Nick," I said, clapping him on the back as I left the room.  Nick nodded and followed me out the door.  When I reached the locker room, I realized I left my unfinished snack on the table in the break room.  I'd grab it before I headed out to the parking lot.

          I reached in my locker and pulled out my leather jacket with my lamanated I.D. badge clipped to the breast pocket.  I smiled and ran my thumb over the text printed next to my picture.  'Gregory Aaron Sanders: CSI1' I almost giggled with glee.  I shrugged the jacket on and hurried back toward the break room.  When I reached it, I crossed over to the table, where did my snack go?  I noticed there was a note on the table where the can of soda had been sitting, it read, 'Have fun at your murder, sucker! S.S.' My eyes narrowed, I only knew of one woman with the initals of "S.S."

          I shook my head and started toward the parking lot, where Nick was already waiting.  "What took you so long?" He asked with a smile as I put on my seat belt, "I went looking for my snack, Sara stole it, she owes me eighty-five cents."  Nick laughed out loud and put the Tahoe in gear.  As he pulled the Tahoe out of the parking lot I realized something, "Hey! How come I never get to drive?" I demanded as Stokes reached over to turn the radio on.  I smacked his hand away and said, "Uh-uh, no way, if you get to drive I get to choose the tunes."

          "Awfully demanding, aren't you?" Nick mumbled as he put his hand back on the steering wheel.  "Yes," I replied, "When I was on cases with Catherine that was our deal, if she drove I got to pick the tunes, if I drove I was forced to listen to elevator music."

          "Elevator music!" Nick snorted as we made a left hand turn; "I never pictured Cath as the type to jam to Celine Dion, are you serious?"  I grinned and sat back in the seat, not bothering to turn the radio on, "Oh yeah, and she sings along, too, she doesn't care who's listening, either!"  Nick smiled, "I couldn't imagine, what do you think Sara listens to?"  I arched an eyebrow, why would Nicky be interested in what Sara listens to? Hmm… "Oh, I don't know," I said casually, looking out the window as we passed the Golden Nugget, "She always struck me as the country type.  Garth Brooks and all that."  I shuddered at the thought.  Nick, I noticed, had pasted a small smirk on his face.  I grinned, "Ah, you can take the boy out of Texas, but you can't take the Texas out of the boy."

          "So true, brother, so true."


	4. Chapter Four

Club 11 was one of the best clubs in Vegas, in my opinion.  Tonight, however, I wasn't here to party with my friends.  I was here to investigate my very first murder.  Nick parked the Tahoe on the street, next to Brass's cruiser.  I slowly opened my door and placed my Nike-clad feet on the warm asphalt.  Brass was already at the door, talking to a few of the burly, WWF-style bouncers at the door.  The doors had been blocked off with orange road cones and yellow police tape.  I opened the back of the Tahoe and grabbed my field kit, a transparent apple-green fishing tackle box with some eyeballs painted on it.

          "Ready?" Nick asked.  I looked up, "As I'll ever be."  Together we started toward doors; Brass met us half-way.  "All the witnesses say the same thing, 'the guy had a dark face.'"  I started and glanced sharply at Brass.  Wait a second, did he…? No, there had to be some mistake. "A dark face?" Nick asked, confused.  Talk about de'ja vu.  I shook my head, I've gotta stop drinking Starbucks, that's all there is to it.  "Yeah," I said, trying to push back the creepy feeling I had, "Okay, guy with a dark face, got it, well, evidence doesn't lie, so let's go."  I started toward the building with my kit in hand.

          "He sounds like Grissom," Nick said to Brass.  "I heard that!" I called over my shoulder as I walked in and flashed my ID to the two officers guarding the door.  Inside the building was a typical nightclub.  This one happened to have three stories with a bar on each level.  At the far end of the building there was a stage with all sorts of musical instruments on it, the body, marked off by yellow police tape, was lying on the ground in front of the stage.  I sighed.  It was going to be a long evening.  No doubt about it, I was going to need a Venti Caffe Americano before the night was out.  I set my kit on the ground, opened it and snapped on a pair of latex gloves.  

          The music inside the club was still blaring at its five-octave level, strobe lights pulsed in time to the bass beats, I could feel a headache building at the base of my skull, I was going to need that coffee sooner than I had thought.  I took out my flash light, feeling like a knock-off verison of Mulder from _The X-Files_.  Paper and other… things littered the floor.  I walked down the flat ballroom like stairs, carefully stepping around substances I couldn't identify, hey, you never know.  It could be something really nasty.

          I slowly made my way towards the body, I wasn't in a hurry, I had all night, after all and this was my first murder, I wanted to take things slow so I could piece everything together and solve the case.  The song changed and I hummed along as I shone my flashlight on objects here and there.  The song picked up and I started to sing:

          "_So here you are in your small, little world_

_          Kept up like a little precious virgin girl…_"

          I knew that Brass and Nick were probably some where behind me, so I shut my mouth and stopped singing.  Something clattered, I whirrled around and noticed a police officer who had knocked over a glass on the dirty bar.  "Sorry," he said sheepishly.  I held up my hand as my eyes latched onto something over his shoulder, "Don't touch _anything_," I said, walking closer to him.  He cringed, as if I was going to hit him.  I gave him a funny look and shook my head.  Behind him on the smooth, red and black speckled wall, someone had written with a neon green highlighter, _'I cross the oceans'_.__

"What'd 'ya find?"  Nick asked, coming up behind me with a flashlight of his own.  "He's quoting," I murmured, turning to look at Nick.  His eyes followed to where I was pointing and he looked at the text on the wall.  "It's block text," Nick said, snapping a picture of it.  "Trying to throw us off, probably, so we can't get a hand-writing sample.  Who's he quoting?"  I shook my head, "I don't know, it's a poem or something I'll bet.  Grissom would probably know."

          "Huh," Nick said, "Let's go have a look at the vic."  He turned and walked down another set of three, flat, ballroom like stairs.  I stared at the text for a moment longer deciding that I'd get back to that later, I turned and followed Nick down the stairs.  I actually wasn't paying that much attention as I went, I had been in this Club before, (might I add I always got carded here? Yeah, really annoying, I'm almost twenty-five!), sure, but I had never seen it this empty, and when people weren't all crowded around you, trying to look cool and everything, you realize: this place has really cool architecture.

          I pointed my flashlight up at the ceiling, just looking around.  Grissom would probably bite my head off if he were here, 'What are you doing?! Get back to work!'  Yeah, that's Grissom for you.  "Female victim," Nick called over his shoulder, "Looks like she was part of the band."  Slowly, I turned around, about to say, "Huh, interesting."  But that's when I noticed something… she was holding a drumstick in her left hand.  I gaped at the body lying before me.  "Do the bodies still bother you, Greg?" Nick asked, his voice soft, understanding.  

          I turned and stared at him, that creepy de'ja vu feeling washing over me again, "No," I murmured, I turned back to the body.  I felt like I had done all of this before.  I knelt beside the body of the girl.  Something caused me to look up.  A drum kit was spread out behind the vic, on the stage, just like my dream… the red shells caught the light from the mirrorball that was perched high above on the third floor… just like my dream… the light was reflected like neon moonbeams, giving the room a very dark and ominous feel. Just like…

Nick didn't seem to notice the dumbstruck look on my face; instead, he smiled, setting his kit on the floor, "Yeah, you get used to it after awhile."  God, what the hell was going on here?  Maybe it was just a creepy dream; sometimes I had dreams like that when I was in college.  Like I dreamed that this one Prof. of mine would give us a quiz on this one Monday morning and I would fail the test because I didn't study.  But that Monday my sister, (who is five years older than me), had my niece and I was excused from the Quiz.  I had a chance to study and I passed the test anyway.

          Maybe it was just one of those weird deals, you know?  Like sometimes you know what song is going to come on the radio five seconds before it happens?  Yeah, that's all it was nothing _X-Files_ or _Twilight Zone about it.  "Hey," Nick said, "Look at this," I looked down.  Nick had, for some reason, pried her eye lids open.  _

          She had violet eyes.


End file.
